


Of Death and Despair

by nanuk_dain



Series: Of Soldiers and Secrets [9]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Landsberg haunts them all. Or: How Speirs and Lipton deal with the horrors they saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Death and Despair

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)   


 

Landsberg, the beautiful little town that seemed almost untouched by war, proved to be a nightmare.

They were all haunted by what they had seen, smelled, tasted, felt. By the ghosts that had walked towards them, skinny hands reaching out for help, to touch, out of relief. Only that they weren't ghosts, they were people, and it was this knowledge that haunted them all the most. Because they couldn't understand how any human being could be this cruel.

Even Luz was quiet.

Lipton knew that his own way of dealing was to get active, to do something, _anything_ , to set things in motion so that they could help those people in the camp. He got so busy that his mind never found a second to turn back to those images that were burnt forever in his memory. He would work until he'd fall asleep from exhaustion, because he knew that in his case, exhaustion kept the nightmares away.

Ron was different.

He fell silent. Even more than he usually was. He functioned just as perfectly he had before, he gave orders and kept the men organised and did his duty. But the spark that Lipton had always been able to see behind his harsh words was gone. It almost physically pained Lipton to see him like that, and it pained him even more to know that there was nothing he could do about it right now. He knew he couldn't offer comfort, not only because he was certain it wouldn't be accepted, but also because it would have torn down his own walls, the only thing that made it possible for Lipton himself to keep functioning.

Ron had been the first one to enter the camp, and Lipton knew because he'd watched him. He'd never seen Ron walk like that, without his grace, without his energy, without his usual authority. Almost like defeated. Later, Lipton had seen Ron standing in the middle of the path that led through the camp, all those people moving around him, and he was totally motionless. His face was a mask of shell-shocked disbelief and stunned horror, a look Lipton would never forget. He never wanted to see it again. He wanted to erase it, wanted to make it better. But he knew he couldn't.

Nobody could.

And there was work to do, so many things to organise, and Lipton held onto his tasks with everything he was, because it was the only thing that kept him from walking up to Ron, from wrapping his arms around him and holding onto him until this nightmare ended.

He couldn't say if it was to give comfort or to seek it. Maybe both.

When he back came into their room in Landsberg that night, dead on his feet yet unable to relax, Ron looked at him, his face perfectly neutral, but his eyes were burning with raw emotion. With so many things that Lipton felt almost overwhelmed, and he instinctively took one step forward, not even sure what he wanted to do. But Ron stepped back, averting his gaze for only a moment, and when he looked up again, his eyes were empty. Lipton felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach when Ron turned away and left.

He didn't follow.

The next morning, they organised the inhabitants of Landsberg into groups and the MPs lead them to the camp. Lipton knew he couldn't have gone back to that camp, and he while he felt guilty that MPs had to do this task instead of him, his relief outweighed his sense of duty for once.

It was shortly before noon when Easy were ready to move out, the men settled on the trucks, the jeeps for the officers waiting. Lipton looked over to where Ron entered the back of the one of the jeeps, watched him sit down with a straight back and stiff, brisk movements. His brows were pulled together and his mouth was a tight line. He never looked up, and Lipton felt something deep inside him beginning to hurt.

It only got worse.

There were no touches anymore. No hand on his shoulder, no fingers grazing his arm. There were no looks, no glances. It was as if a wall had come up, invisible but incredibly strong. Ron had turned into the Speirs of the rumours, into a man Lipton had never known. When they reached Thalem, Lipton's nerves were raw and he felt that he was one step short of either breaking or exploding. He'd never felt like that, had never experienced this intense urge to hit something, and the lack of sleep combined with the constant memories of Landsberg didn't help keeping it together.

He must have radiated some of his aggressive misery, because the men left him alone and for once, he was grateful for it. He couldn't have dealt with the questions, with the sympathy. Not that anybody had a lot of that to offer with the smell of the burnt flesh still lingering in their clothes, their noses, their memory. Lipton pulled himself together as much as he could manage, and went about his job, getting the men settled for the night. He was glad that he didn't see much of Speirs.

When he retreated to the room Winters had assigned to him and Speirs, it was empty and the bed was untouched. For a moment, Lipton just stood in the middle of the room, staring at the single bed that a day ago he would have shared with Ron. Then he pulled out his bedroll and spread it out on the ground. Things had changed.

He was so tired that he didn't even ache any more, yet he couldn't find any sleep. He lay on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling that was partly illuminated by weak moonlight, and tried to fight off the ghosts that lived in his mind. The images of men who were almost starved to death. Of bodies spread all over the ground, so many dead that he couldn't count them. The stench of burnt flesh. The feeling of horror and consternation, of helplessness and desperation. Every time he closed his eyes, the sensations became stronger, the images became clearer. He just wanted to forget.

It was very late when Lipton heard footsteps in the hallway outside the room, but he didn't bother to move. He would recognise them everywhere. They stopped in front of the door, remained still for a long time, before the door was pushed open with an effort to keep quiet. Carwood wondered if Speirs just didn't want to wake him in order to avoid having do deal with him. Probably.

But then, maybe he just didn't care anymore. Lipton bit his lip hard and tried to suppress the overwhelmingly strong feelings of anger, betrayal and hurt. He'd never felt more lonely in the presence of a person that he thought he knew.

The door was pushed shut again and the footsteps passed Lipton, walking towards the bed. There was the sound of a belt being opened, then the heavy gear was set down to rest on the ground. After that, Speirs just stood motionless in front of the bed, face turned towards the window, and Lipton couldn't help staring at the straight back and the stiff posture. Even without Ron ever saying anything, Carwood knew deep down that he hurt, that he was just as haunted by the events of Landsberg as he was, and that this silence was Ron's way of dealing with it. He didn't hurt on purpose, he did it because he didn't know how else to react.

Maybe, Lipton thought while he watched the stiff set of Ron's shoulders, maybe _he_ had to take the first leap. Because he knew that Ron wouldn't do it, was too caught up in his own pain. Maybe it was time to gather his courage and trust that Ron would recognise his effort. Lipton took a deep breath to calm his own emotions, then he stood up and walked over to Ron, standing beside him, leaving about a foot of distance between them. For a long time, he didn't say anything, just stood there in shared silence, and Ron never gave any indication that he was aware of Lipton's presence.

Lipton turned to look at him, then he reached out and set his hand on the small of Ron's back, just like he had done countless times before. It was a gesture of understanding, of reassurance, a simple touch to show that he cared. Ron stiffened under his hand, then he took a step aside to break the connection.

“Go back to sleep, lieutenant.” Ron continued to stare out of the window and his voice was cold and emotionless, as if he was talking to a subordinate officer he'd never known beyond a professional relationship. Had never trusted, had never shared a bed with, had never touched in the heat of passion. Had never cared about. It gave Lipton the final push, made him hit his breaking point hard.

“Damn it, Ron, look at me!” Carwood felt the anger explode inside him, blinding him for a moment, and he gave in to the need to lash out. “You are not the only one who hurts!”

As if the words had broken a hole into his shields, a shiver passed through Ron, first a little shaking of his hands, then it wandered up his arms, and finally the tremors went through his entire body. When he finally turned to look at Carwood, his eyes were unnaturally wide. There were so many emotions flickering through them, everything from hurt, grief, horror, disbelief and anger to desperation and helplessness and countless nuances inbetween. When Ron opened his mouth to say something, a raw sound came out, so incredibly close to a cry, and it made Carwood's insides clench painfully.

“Ron...” Carwood stepped in without a moment's hesitation and closed his arms around the strong shoulders that were now shaking in almost soundless sobs. His hands clawed into the fabric of Ron's uniform jacket, fists that he knew he wouldn't be able to loosen even if he wanted to. His nose was pressed against the side of Ron's neck, halfway buried in his dark hair, his eyes screwed close against his own tears. Against the skin of his neck, he felt the hot wetness of Ron's breath, of his tears. Ron's arms were wrapped around his waist, tight as a steel band, almost keeping him from breathing. His fingers dug painfully in Carwood's sides with a grip that was born out of despair.

“Don't...” Ron's voice was rough with emotion, with pain and tears, and it broke before he could finish the sentence.

Lipton tightened his hold, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “I've got you, Ron.”

And Carwood held on.

**Author's Note:**

> The banner was made by my beloved Megan_Moonlight!


End file.
